Cold Coffee
by TangerineFields
Summary: Sharing his life with Sirius came with predictable complications and unusual sacrifices. RemusxSirius


N/A: Perhaps part of a series of drabbles about the things Remus shared with Sirius. Mostly adorable. And this time, it's not even adult fluff :o

Disclaimer: Sirius and Remus and the terrible exploits of the Marauders are all the property of the wonderful J. K. Rowling

**Cold Coffee**

It was widely assumed that Remus Lupin didn't make a habit out of drinking coffee because he disliked it. This, although a perfectly reasonable conclusion to have come to, was hardly true. Yes, Remus was resolutely a tea person but he did appreciate the odd mug of coffee now and again, for that caffeine kick tea failed to provide. No, the reason Remus Lupin didn't drink coffee was because the moment he sloshed in the last drop of milk, Sirius invariably nicked it.

On this particular blustery Sunday morning, Remus had woken up to an empty bed, Sirius gallantly having chosen to sleep on the sofa after crawling in at some godforsaken hour from a night of Order business. It was a generous gesture, but one that left Remus feeling disjointed, the absence of Sirius' knee in the small of his back and the realisation that for once, he still possessed most of the duvet leaving him with a sensation of having lost a part of himself during the night. Intolerable weekends of one of them crashing onto settees across the country after hexing Voldemort's followers till they were blue in the face had taught Remus that nothing quite eased that feeling like a steaming mug of coffee, at least until he could crawl in next to Sirius on their shattered leather sofa.

With this in mind, he padded downstairs, wrapping his dressing gown tightly around him for the benefit of old Mrs Fletcher, pausing in the doorway to the living room to steal a glance at Sirius. He was curled up, face to leather, his motorbike jacket still clinging to his arms, hair a crow's nest around his shoulders. There was blood on his jeans, dark patches at his knees where he had been kneeling. He hadn't bothered to take his shoes off, and Remus regarded the footprints that walked a bee line to the sofa with fond irritation.

The narrow kitchen was still a bombsite. Sirius had cooked the night before and made the inevitable nuclear mess. Pots and pans littered the stove, coated with relics of pasta sauce, and the shell of what had been a chicken lay, smelling foully on the work surface. Remus sighed, and saved the kettle from the carnage. They were almost out of coffee. Sirius had an uncanny ability for vanishing charms where coffee was concerned – Remus never accepted drinks from him. They were invariably designed to blow the drinker's head off.

He sighed, absently pushing potato peelings into piles as he waited for the kettle to sing. He knew he could clear up. Should clear up. It wouldn't take long to sweep the leftovers in the bin, scourgify the sides, the pans, but he didn't have the energy.

The kettle whistled happily at him. He smiled and abandoned the potato peelings for the only clean, chipped blue mug he could salvage from the mess. As was the pattern, Remus' coffee was the polar opposite of Sirius' bitter inky black. He dropped two spoonfuls of sugar in, and sloshed in green top milk, tendrils of heat rising up from the mug.

So far, so good, Remus smiled to himself, as he paused for a moment next to the sink and stared out in to the unruly garden. Rain was threatening, dark clouds pushing down on the fence and the laden branches of Number 29's apple tree. He sighed, and was about to take a tentative sip of his coffee, when he felt Sirius' arms fold comfortably around his waist.

"Good morning," Sirius' voice was still husky with sleep, and Remus leant back into him, never ceasing to be aroused even in the midst of war and domestic carnage. "You've made coffee."

"Yes." Remus wrapped his fingers rather protectively around the mug. "I have made myself coffee."

Sirius nuzzled gently against Remus' neck. "You need to shave," he murmured, kissing the space below his jaw.

"I like it like this," Remus said quietly, "You can't see the scars."

Sirius growled his disapproval. "I love your scars," he murmured, tracing the path of the freshest with his tongue to prove the point. Remus shuddered, arching his neck, his fingers tightening around the handle of his cooling drink.

"You're wasting that coffee," Sirius muttered, "And my need is greater than yours."

"Says who?" Remus growled, turning in Sirius' arms, the disputed mug between them, to take in the dark rings that looped like a cat's cradle under his eyes, which were still encrusted with sleep. "You didn't wake up on your own to our empty bed."

"I didn't want to wake you up," Sirius smiled at him, "You're a right bastard when you're grumpy."

"I never mind when it's you." Cautious of the coffee, Remus kissed him softly, and Sirius laughed.

"You used to mind."

"That's because it was always you and James, and you usually were holding a niffler to my face or trying to talk me into something utterly ridiculous at three o'clock in the morning."

"Our plans were never ridiculous!"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Bollocks. You attempted to break into the potions cupboard using two chopsticks, a jar of honey and thirty pixies."

Sirius grinned at him, "Oh god, I'd forgotten about that," he smirked slightly. "S'not like I knew Snivellus an' that bloody Ravenclaw'd be eating each other's faces in there! I mean, who the fuck'd wanna do that to Snivellus?" He shuddered, and the coffee sloshed precariously. "Look, you gonna drink that?"

Remus glanced at the coffee, and then looked at Sirius, and saw the love that softened the grey edges of his eyes and smiled. "No," he murmured, shaking his head. "You have it, I don't need it. Coffee's a terrible substitute for you."


End file.
